It's Like This (4 page)

I’m considering asking her when Rylan unexpectedly grabs the back of my head and pulls me in, harshly, so his lips are against mine and his tongue is plunging into my mouth and the girls are standing looking at us kind of bewilderedly before smiling and giving us thumbs up and walking away. Rylan pulls back and grins at me—he thinks he’s pretty fucking funny—and then he tugs harshly at my nipple through my shirt for no good reason and says something about getting more drinks, and struts away, leaving me vaguely horny and alone. Well, alone for about three seconds, that is, because the next thing I know Shona is pulling herself really close to me, rubbing her body against mine, and I get that the guy who made a move on her has been deemed creepy. I put my hands on her waist and pull her in close until the guy gets the message and begins his search elsewhere. Shona mouths “thank you” and rolls her pretty, made-up eyes.

I look around for Rylan. When I spot him, I’m a little surprised to see the bride from the bachelorette party whispering in his ear. He beams and offers her his arm like some nineteenth century throwback. She links hers with his, holding onto his bicep and they walk down the steps together. Rylan seeks us out, passes Shona and me our drinks and then turns back to the bride, one arm circling her waist and the other clasping one of her hands. They dance like they’re at a fucking wedding and not a club, at all. His cheek lights against hers and he shout-whispers something into her ear and she tips her head back, laughing, her long throat exposed. I feel sick and stupid, because, despite her tacky attire and her gaggle of loud friends whooping behind her, they look really…beautiful together and I’m swamped with this guilt, like, what if I’m keeping Rylan from something he wants or should have or would have if it wasn’t for me? What if I’m an obligation for bringing him home to my family, or just a handy thing to have around until he finds someone like this girl? And it’s not like I’m actually worried something’s going to happen, like, she’s getting married and this is just a bachelorette party and it’s just a club and it’s just been going on for a few songs and I’m supposed to be hanging out with Shona, anyway, but I can’t help the tight, bitter nerves that coil in my guts.

Shona’s watching them, I mean, we don’t stop dancing, but she’s watching them and then watching me. I try to smile at her like I’m having fun and she looks like she feels kinda bad for me, but she’s also still looking around, hoping to make eye contact with someone who she can take home. I’m kind of pissed about it, even though Shona is nothing if not upfront about what she wants, and it’s not like I didn’t know what tonight was about. Finally, after another couple of songs, Rylan starts to make his way back over to me. I’m embarrassingly relieved. He grins at me, and then I notice the bride’s behind him, and he’s holding their hands to the small of his back so they don’t get separated as they
keep fucking walking
over to the bar where he buys her a fucking drink, and then some new guy encroaches on Shona, and she gives me the thumbs up saying that she’s happy with him, and I’m good to go, but Jesus
fuck
, I don’t have anyone to go home
with
, seeing as I’ve been ditched for someone who’s about to get fucking married, areyouabsolutelyfucking
kidding
me!

I watch Rylan and his fucking wife down two shots of tequila, drop their limes into their shot glasses, and make their way back to the dance floor, where Rylan fucking spins her and dips her and they laugh. I walk right up behind her. He’s got his hand dangerously close to her ass, and it takes him a couple of seconds before he sees me, but when he does, he just smiles. I glare at him impatiently and he looks sort of confused. I seriously want to get out of here, doesn’t he get that? And I feel like I should be entitled to going home with my boyfriend, but instead I just feel like I’m having a fucking temper tantrum or something, because I just fucking stalk out of there and leave. And I’m acting irrationally, which makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed and humiliated, and that just makes me more frustrated, so I just fucking get into one of the waiting taxis and give the cabby my address. As the driver pulls a U-turn in front of the club, I can’t help but look for Rylan, like maybe he’s wondering where I got to. But I don’t see him because he’s a selfish bastard and I’m a pathetic idiot.

It’s barely past midnight by the time I get home and I’m too fucking mad to do anything. The worst part is that I don’t know if I’m even justified in being mad. Like, it’s not like we’ve ever established that we’re not allowed to do whatever the fuck we want with other people. Who knows, maybe he goes to the club and hooks up with randoms all the time? I throw myself dramatically onto my bed, wishing I could phone Shona but I can’t even do that because she’s probably making out with the guy on the dance floor by this point and I feel like such a useless idiot. Why haven’t I just asked him?

Seriously. All I needed to do to avoid this was ask him what was between us, let him put me out of my misery. But I didn’t. Because what if he’d said…What if he said that—Jesus. That he was just in it for the sex. He can’t just be in it for the sex. It would end me if he said that. Because. I fucking love him. I don’t ever
ever
admit it, but I do. And I’d forgive him anything if he’d just fucking show up and…I don’t know. Everything’s so fucked up. Usually, I am composed, honest to God, I have control over myself. I can watch my drinking, and what I eat, and I make sure that I get off my ass on a semi-regular basis. But when it comes to him, I’m an absolute idiot, and I don’t think, and I just give in even if I promise I won’t. Which I’ve given up promising because I know I’ll just give in anyway. Fuck.

I don’t know how, but I somehow fall asleep. I only know I was asleep and not still tormenting myself because now I am definitely awake and Rylan is standing in my doorway. He smells drunk. He walks towards my bed, not really staggering, but not close to sober, either. And he pulls off his shirt and he unbuckles his pants and lets them fall and he scoops off my blanket and I’m just lying there, in my boxers. And he licks his lips and straddles me and brings his face in close to mine and even though I feel like I hate him I let him because I’m just so fucking thankful he’s here.

He leaves dark, bruising hickeys all over my chest before stripping me of my boxers and bending up my knees and quickly preparing me and then going for it. It hurts a bit and I grit my teeth, but that fades in a second and he’s leaning over me, kissing me hard, and fucking me harder. He jacks me quickly, and of course I get hard. And he looks at me like he’s thinking something that he considers saying, but he doesn’t. He just tightens his fingers around my dick, which hurts but it’s me, so I like it, and we’re both getting closer, everything’s speeding up, and then the next thing I know, he’s got his free hand up at my face, forcing my nostrils closed and I’m gasping for air in surprise, but he keeps his mouth tight over mine.

It hits me that he’s suffocating me. My lungs and my throat burn and I panic, but he keeps on fucking me—deep, rapid jabs, and jacking me and my body somehow keeps on responding, and I swear it’s even more sensitive than it usually is because all I can pay attention to is that I need air and I need to come, and it’s like these are the only two needs I’ll ever have and one’s approaching, but if I don’t get the other soon, I’ll die. Literally, I’ll die. And he grips me impossibly harder and I need to breathe, and I toss my head violently in an effort to get away, but he keeps kissing me, blocking out my chance for air with his tongue, and then he’s coming and I’m coming, more than coming, I’m igniting, pouring out harder than I ever knew I could, like it’s the last thing I’m ever going to do. And then he’s breathing into my mouth and I’m drinking in the oxygen, which isn’t enough, but will have to be enough, and he pulls out, leaving me sweaty and vacant with lungs aching until finally, sweetly, he moves his mouth away and I draw my own breath, and the air blisters the whole way down.

We’re collapsed. Even if he’s smaller than me, I feel like he’s crushing me, I’m so weak. He presses kisses to my sweaty forehead, nuzzles my cheek, and suckles at my ear until I’m not awake anymore.

* * *

He’s still here. When I wake up next morning, Rylan’s still lying on top of me, head curled awkwardly into my shoulder and neck. I shift slightly and that wakes him and he looks down at me. A few hours must have passed because he doesn’t seem drunk anymore. He smiles contentedly at me, and rolls off me, propping himself up on one elbow. He keeps his other hand on my stomach. It drifts casually over my ribs and up to my chest.

I do believe this is the closest we’ve ever come to pillow talk. He licks his lips. Swallows. Doesn’t speak.

Am I supposed to say something? Is that what he’s waiting for? Because I can’t find a single word.

His palm finds my jaw, curls around it. He moves in closer to me, our bodies touching, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. I find myself reacting mechanically, but I’m too late and I end up kissing air and not him. Not that I know if I want to kiss him. He tilts his forehead into my temple.

Breathing on me. Breathing…that’s kind of cruel, isn’t it?

I don’t like the way he is looking at me. I can’t define it and I close my eyes, but I know I don’t like it. His lips glance off my ear. I don’t move. His hand relocates to my hip, gentle and placating all the way down, but it doesn’t work. I’m shaky and disoriented.

He’s waiting. I know it somehow, even if I don’t know what he wants, and even if I did I couldn’t give it to him. I couldn’t give a single fucking thing at this moment. He has me all, anyway. Whether I want it or not.

He whispers something into my ear, it might be my name, but I don’t catch it. His hand won’t stop moving over me, slow and fucking tender, like nothing I’m used to at all. Maybe he feels badly, maybe he wants to do it again and is trying to coax me or maybe I won’t ever be able to figure him out so I should just give this up. My lip is between his lips. He drags his mouth across the line of my cheek bone and then his tongue traces the bone behind my ear. He kisses the spot in front of my ear. But he doesn’t use his teeth even once. This isn’t us. We don’t behave this way. Maybe I wanted it before but not anymore.

Or maybe that’s all bullshit. We both know that if he went for my cock right now I’d let him fuck me. That’s what I do, or that’s what we do.
That’s
us.

He uses his arm to pull me close against him, tight and there’s so much…contact. He kisses my face five or six times, and I don’t respond and he sighs or groans but it’s not quite voiced. He peels himself off me.

I watch him as he puts on his clothes, so normally. He’s at the door. He turns, looks at me watching him. He walks out. All I can do is turn away, unable to process anything except that he’s gone and I’m aching.

And then suddenly he’s back and he’s kissing my mouth, sideways and awkwardly and he’s saying he’ll call me in a bit, OK? And I’m nodding, dumbly, and closing my eyes and he’s running fingertips over my forehead and in a few minutes I know I’ll be alone again.

* * *

“Remember how I told you I’d tell you when it was time to draw the line?” Shona says. I can picture her: she’s probably half-dressed, pajama pants and bra, cereal bowl on lap, cross-legged. Phone caught between her chin and shoulder causing neck pain she’ll whine at me to knead out later.

“Yes. And I remember telling you how I would ignore you telling me to draw the line.”

“Babe.” Shona never uses her serious voice, but she is using it now. “You need to draw the line.”

I don’t respond.

“Niles, come on. This isn’t me being an asshole. I know I’m not super Team Rylan but I swear I’m trying to be objective and—he…he fucking tried to strangle you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I protest.

“Wow, because that doesn’t sound exactly like every abuse-victim-in-denial ever.” And I know it’s serious because Shona doesn’t do caring, but here she is.

“Well, it wasn’t. He didn’t try to strangle me.”

“Suffocate, then. Any way you look at it, it’s fucking weird.”

“I didn’t tell him to stop,” I mumble, stupidly.

“Oh, and when would you have gotten that in? Before or after he was choking you with his tongue?”

“Shona, please.”

“Look. Or, like, listen, OK? This has breached the kinky line. This is the here-there-be-monsters jagged edge of the map. This is the point of no return. Luckily, you’ve got me holding onto the back of your shorts, pulling you back onto dry land. Niles, please. This. Cannot. Go on.”

I sigh. “I know.”

There’s a long pause as she chews a mouthful of cereal. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

I swallow. “No.”

“I can’t fucking believe this.”

I don’t answer.

“What do I have to do, Niles? I’m seriously freaked out, OK? He was drunk. He fucking
cut off your air supply
, and—”

“And I didn’t make a single move to stop it. He didn’t even have my arms tied down. I’m stronger than him. I could’ve pushed him off if I’d wanted to.”

“That’s bullshit. He’s got such a creepy power over you! I hate it! Why don’t you get that you could’ve been
killed
!”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He already has. Just because I don’t comment on it doesn’t mean I haven’t seen the evidence.” The sentences start coming faster now, and I know we’re either going to fight it out or let it drop, but I don’t know which yet.

“I like it.”

“You lik
ed
it.” Shona’s voice is tight, loud, final. “Now, it’s fucked.”

“I love him.”

A pause. She sighs. Finally, “I know.”

“How?” I never told her.

“I’m not an idiot. It’s messed up. Look, just…will you get him to wear a fucking condom or something? If he’s not going to kill you while fucking you, I don’t want him to give you something that will kill you later on.”

“What’s the point? I’ve got whatever he’s got.”

“But you don’t have whatever he might
get.
”

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to think about the possibility of him kissing-fucking-teasing-tying
any
one else,
ever
. I’m sick. I’m fucking sick. Hell. I wish Shona wasn’t right.